Golf lessons are in full swing this week (oh, the pun!), and the boy couldn’t be happier.
He and the golf. They are friends.
The boy’s buddies, G and Kellen, are taking lessons with him this week, and when I pick them up, they are hot. And tired. And dying of thirst. And starving to death. They are in need of an air conditioner, a bottle of ice water, and however many boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese I am willing to make.
And also? After two days of golf lessons, and lugging his enormous bag of clubs around behind him, and swimming laps at swim camp in the afternoons, and attending two birthday parties, and running, running, running, and having Kellen and G and Ciara and Blaine and Eli all over to play, and jumping on the trampoline, my boy is plum beat down. He walked in our front door at 6:45 tonight after coming home from a birthday party, and I looked at him and said, “To bed.” And the boy didn’t fight the death sentence of an early bedtime. He brushed his teeth. He pulled on some jammies. He crawled into bed. And he was sound asleep at 7:15.
Our boy’s fun barometer is at full tilt.
Summer vacation is such hard work sometimes.